


cupid's bow

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Eyeliner, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: When Credence looks up to the mirror, he gasps. The exaggerated dip and peak of his top lip makes him look like a doll, but he doesn't feel silly, like he thought he would. He feels...pretty. He likes the lipstick, he decides, heat pooling in his stomach.(Credence lets Queenie do his makeup and Mr Graves likes it. A lot).





	

**Author's Note:**

> A bit stuck on _portentum_ , so I took a break for this smutty one-shot that popped into my head earlier this week. It practically wrote itself. Too bad it didn't edit itself. (AKA un-beta'd/self-edited because I'm impatient).
> 
> Edit: I made [an edit for this](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/163561187100/fanfic-posters-cupids-bow-when-credence-looks-up), quite a bit after the fact, because why not?

It has been three months since the obscurus was successfully extracted from Credence, three months of relative peace and safety but, some days, he still expects it to take over. Waits, when he is angry or overwhelmed, for the black smoke to rise, coiling through his innards and spreading out, consuming, until there is nothing left of him. But, of course, it never comes. Other days, the loss of the parasite is a gaping hole inside him, one he doesn't know how to fill.

So, when Mr Graves, straightening his tie in the morning, mentions Queenie is off sick from work, Credence eagerly offers to keep her company. Happy, not only for the chance to avoid being alone in Mr Graves's apartment, all day – 'our apartment, Credence. It's your home, now, too' – but to repay some of the kindness the Legilimens has shown him.

Despite Credence's protestations that she should rest, they spend most of the morning baking until the kitchen counters are filled with pies and strudels and cakes. They eat far too many sweets, chatting easily as they indulge. In the afternoon, Queenie settles on the sofa with a book, and a Pepper-up potion, and Credence slips away to look around the apartment. He knows it well, by now, but he is rarely here when it is so quiet, so empty. The door to the bedroom is ajar and, through the crack, Credence spies Queenie's vanity. With the afternoon sun streaming through the window, the little bottles and tubes shimmer and gleam like jewels in a dragon's lair and Credence finds himself pushing the door open, settling on the velvet covered stool before them.

He runs his fingers reverently along a gold lipstick case, then to a small hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl, next to a matching hairbrush. A glass jar with the word 'Pond's' embossed on the side sits near a box of Kleenex. He takes one out and rubs it over his face – it's smooth and softer than he'd expected – then folds it neatly and tucks it into his pocket. There is something that looks like a pair of scissors but there are no blades at its end, only a thin frame supporting two curved pieces of metal, with a strip of rubber along the top of one. He eyes it warily, baffled as to its purpose, then lets his gaze trail along the rest of the treasures. 

There is a small burgundy box with a woman's face and the word 'Maybelline' written in a flowing script, more gold and silver tubes of lipstick, pots and tins that reveal coloured powders and creams when he opens them. He picks up a tall, bulbous atomiser, tassels tickling his palm, and can't resist the urge to spray it, watching perfume mist in the air around him. It smells like spring. As he's carefully replacing the bottle, Queenie comes in.

'There you are – I'd wondered where you'd got to.'

'I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...' His face heats and shame pricks his belly.

'It's OK, honey. Play all you want.' Queenie smiles, hip cocked, looking brighter than she had when Credence arrived this morning. He blushes at her phrasing.

Queenie squeezes in beside him on the stool, their thighs pressed together. 'I like doing my makeup the No-Maj way. It's soothing, ya know?' She says as Credence is wondering if there is a magic way to put all of this on.

Credence nods, but he doesn't know. He's always wondered what it's like, though, all that powder and paint on your face. He thinks it looks glamorous, not cheap like his Ma had said. 

'You know, Teenie barely ever lets me do her makeup but it's so much fun. Different than putting it on yourself.' She eyes Credence and when her eyes light up, his stomach flips. 'Oh, why don't we play? You're pretty enough on your own' - Credence blushes, again, at being called pretty - 'but can I do your makeup? Please?'

Credence has always been curious, drawn in by the lure of dark rimmed eyes, the slash of a red mouth. Has wondered if there are other men who think of this, if it's the thought of something taboo that is attractive or the desire deep within to be transformed, again, to be something other, something beautiful. Maybe he should have had enough of transformations to last him a lifetime but with Queenie's wide shining eyes, her stunning smile dimpling her cheeks, he finds himself nodding. Queenie claps and moves off the stool to get another chair so she can sit in front of Credence, their knees touching.

She picks up something that looks like a pencil and instructs him to close his eyes. The heel of her hand rests on his cheekbone as she draws all around one eye, then the other in the same manner. When she's done, she smudges the lines with her thumb and tells Credence to open his eyes, again. She traces over his brows, extending them down, like he'd seen on movie stars when he could sneak a look at the pictures.

Next is eyeshadow in a deep plum, bright red circles of rouge applied to the apples of his cheeks with the small round pad nestled inside the tin, and, finally, white powder daubed all over with a fluffy powder puff.

It's quiet in the room except for the in and out of their breathing, the swish of Queenie's fingers moving over his skin, the clicking of his tongue as he swallows, so unused to being touched with kindness. It is soothing to have Queenie do this, her light touches brushing his face. It's so different to the need that gnaws at his insides when Mr Graves touches him. He had once thought it was the obscurus, stirring at a hand on his shoulder or the nape of his neck, but now knows it is something purely him.

Queenie picks up the box that says 'Maybelline', revealing a small brush and a block of something black and solid. She spits onto the block, Credence wrinkling his nose as he watches – 'makeup isn't all glamorous, honey' – and rubs the bristles along it. 

'What's that?' Credence blinks, bites his lip.

'To make your eyelashes darker,' she says, wielding the brush. 'Though you don't need much help there.' But she puts it on, anyway, catching his lashes, painting them with the careful strokes of an artist's hand.

'And now, the final touch.' Queenie looks over her selection of lipsticks, an array of roses, reds, raspberries and one alarming tangerine.

'Why is this one flavoured?' Credence asks picking up a tube and turning it over. Queenie only smiles and says, 'Here we go. I think this will suit you,' and motions for Credence to open his mouth, a little. She winds up the lipstick, which is a true, bright shade of red, and starts to colour his lips. The waxy crayon smell wafts up to his nose as she moves the lipstick up and over the bow of his top lip, and says, proudly, 'Some No-Maj's use a stencil to get this shape right, but I can do it freehand.'

He tries not to smile, so he doesn't ruin her work, but he knows she'll read the fondness in his thoughts.

'All done.' She sets the lipstick down, looking pleased. 'Want to see?' she asks, gesturing to the mirror Credence has had his back to while Queenie worked quite a different kind of magic.

He nods, then swivels around on the stool. When he looks up to the mirror, he gasps. His already fair skin is a touch lighter, seeming to glow under the powder and the rouge that sits along his high cheekbones rounds out his face. His eyes, edged with kohl, shine brighter. But it is his lips that capture his attention. The exaggerated dip and peak of his top lip makes him look like a doll, but he doesn't feel silly, like he thought he would. He feels...pretty. He likes the lipstick, he decides, heat pooling in his stomach.

As he regards his reflection, Queenie silent beside him, there is the crack of someone apparating and then Mr Graves's deep voice yelling out, 'Credence? Queenie?'

Credence's stomach plummets. He hadn't realised the time, thought he'd take this off before Mr Graves came to pick him up and go home. It was fun, sitting here in the sheltered world of Queenie's room, the close perfumed warmth, imagining he could indulge this curiosity without reproach but now that illusion has shattered. Before he can ask Queenie to take it off with a spell – still not confident in doing spells himself, especially not one on his face - Queenie calls out 'Just coming!' and takes Credence by the wrist, leading him to the living room. Even if he wasn't wearing so much rouge, he knows his cheeks would be flaming red.

'What have you two been up to?' Mr Graves asks and Queenie says 'Just playing, Mr Graves'. Mr Graves frowns until his gaze lands on Credence. His eyes widen but he doesn't say anything. Only stares, brow furrowed.

Panic stirs in his chest. Why doesn't Mr Graves say anything? Is he that disgusted? 'Maybe I should take this off before I go home.' Credence ducks his head, tugging at his sleeve.

Queenie shoots him a knowing glance, but only says, 'Aww, we just finished!', edging her voice with disappointment. Relief washes through him that she hasn't given his thoughts away. 

'Of course not, honey,' she says, voice pitched low, then louder, adds, 'And you look so pretty, it'd be a shame to wash it off so soon. Don't you think, Mr Graves?'

Credence's eyes widen, relief evaporating but Mr Graves's only response is a quiet, 'Um,' his frown deepening.

'Keep it on a little while for me, won't you?' Queenie squeezes Credence's arm. 

Dizzied and bewildered he says, 'Sure.'

'We should get home.' Mr Graves avoids looking at Credence as he holds out his arm so Credence can side along. Credence steps over and takes hold, and Queenie says, 'See you next time. Thanks for keeping me company.' She winks and Credence attempts a smile, waves with a shaking hand, before the world falls away and they are in Mr Graves's apartment.

They stand in the centre of the living room and Credence shuffles back, puts some distance between them. His hand curls around his arm, fingers digging in to steady himself, eyes firmly on the polished floor. He feels the air thicken and his breathing shallows. He can't stand the tension crawling along his skin, blurts out, 'I-I should go wash my face.'

'Don't,' says Mr Graves, catching Credence by the wrist as he brushes past him. His fingers press into the dip where Credence's blood pulses.

Credence's heart thumps so hard he barely hears him. 'What?'

Mr Graves only steps closer, silent, fingers still encircling Credence's wrist. They burn into his skin, like a brand. The silence stretches on and Credence finds words spilling out of his mouth in the need to fill it. 'I shouldn't have let Queenie – I didn't think you would see...'

Mr Graves shakes his head. Credence swallows thickly, not knowing what the gesture means. Mr Graves reaches up and grasps Credence's chin with his other hand. He turns his face to one side, then the other, eyes roaming over Credence's painted skin. Finally, Mr Graves says, 'It suits you,' voice deeper, rougher than usual. Heat coils through Credence and he can't bear to keep Mr Graves's gaze any longer, looks away, lashes dipping. Moments pass, and Credence finds having Mr Graves look at him while he's not looking at Mr Graves is more unbearable and he darts his eyes back up to meet the older man's.

As soon as he does, Mr Graves's eyes drift down to and linger on Credence's lips, always unnaturally pink but now a cherry red, shaped into a perfect Cupid's bow by Queenie's clever hand. Credence licks them automatically and Mr Graves follows the track of his tongue, then mutters something under his breath.

'What was that?'

'A spell,' he says, eyes firm on Credence's mouth, 'so your lipstick won't get smudged.'

'By what?' Credence asks, lost, and then Mr Graves is kissing him. Oh, thinks Credence, so his kiss won't smudge my lipstick.

He is still held in place by Mr Graves's hands, which now cup his face, fingers curling behind his jaw. His lips part on a moan and Mr Graves's tongue slides against his, into his mouth.

He could fill the space the obscurus left inside him with this, he thinks, with Mr Graves's kisses, with his hands hot over his skin, with his tongue. Yes, Mr Graves is just the right fit.

When Mr Graves pulls away and says 'sorry' it falls flat. Credence knows he doesn't mean it - the kiss was too long, too assured for any real regret - but he says, 'don't be. Please', and then they are reaching for each other, again. 

Kisses trail along Credence's jaw, down his neck, burning over his skin. Teeth graze his pulse point, more sensitive than he'd imagined, and he fists his hands into Mr Graves's jacket, earning him a chuckle. 

'Now I know why Queenie has cherry flavoured lipstick,' he says, dizzy with kisses. Mr Graves chuckles again and noses along his cheek, whispers in his ear, 'You taste better.'

'Oh,' says Credence and leans forward for another kiss, drunk on them, and needing more. Mr Graves's fingers curl over the shell of his ears, down to rest in the short hair at the nape of his neck. They press lightly on the hollow there, bringing Credence even closer. Credence releases his own hands from where they are bunched in the fabric of Mr Graves's jacket, slides them up to spread over the width of the other man's shoulder blades. They roll beneath his palms as Mr Graves moves his hands to Credence's waist, fingers tightening in a bruising grip that Credence relishes.

He is backed against the nearest wall, an insistent thigh nudged between his. He moans at the contact, arousal thrumming all through him, sound swallowed by the cavern of Mr Graves's mouth. Mr Graves pushes forward, spurred by the sound, and Credence's legs spread further to let him press in. His hips tilt forward, and his head tips back, neck arched in offering, which Mr Graves gladly takes as he rolls his hips against Credence's. It's almost too much, but not enough at the same time.

'I-' Credence starts but can't complete the sentence or the thought when a tongue laves over his neck. His breath rushes out in another moan. 'I want-' he gets further this time.

'What do you want?' Mr Graves says into his neck.

'I want to...put my. My mouth on you.' Credence doesn't know how he manages to get the words out, didn't know he was going to say that until the words spill over his painted lips, besides.

Mr Graves bites down, 'fuck', he breathes out, then soothes over the spot with his tongue, his lips. He pulls back, pushing Credence's bangs away, looks him in the eye. 'You sure?'

Credence nods, want coursing through him desperately now the words have been spoken. 'Yes'.

'Yes,' repeats Mr Graves. 'Come on, then,' he says and Credence doesn't have time to blink before they are suddenly in Mr Graves's room, by the silk covered bed. It's darker in here, and Credence whispers lumos, wanting to see.

Mr Graves sits heavily on the bed and Credence sees the shake in his hands before he settles them by his sides. Credence doesn't know if it's nerves or desire or both but seeing a crack in Mr Graves's usually unruffled facade bolsters his confidence and he sinks to his knees before the older man. Mr Graves gasps and brings one shaking hand up, pushing through Credence's hair. He rests his own hands on Mr Graves's thighs, just above his knees. The corded muscle, the sheer strength, beneath his palms is exhilarating. 

He looks up from under darkened lashes, which flutter in time with his pulse, and slides his hands up further. Mr Graves's hand leaves his hair, trails along his cheek over the circle of rouge, and down to his mouth. He pushes one finger, then two, past cherry red lips, tracing over Credence's teeth, the inside of his cheek, pushing at his tongue. Credence moans around them, eyes fluttering shut, suckles, desire increasing as he twirls his tongue around the long fingers. It claws at him, saying 'now, do it now.'

He pulls off and looks back up to Mr Graves who is regarding him with hot, hooded eyes. Credence's fingers have dug into the flesh of his thighs while his fingers were in his mouth, and he loosens his grip, curls his hands over the waistband of Mr Graves's trousers. 'May I?'

'Yes,' he says, legs spreading further and Credence shuffles forward into the v of them. He slips the button at the waist out of its hole, slides the zip down and takes Mr Graves's cock into his hand. Credence has touched himself, brought himself off – an act he feels a lingering shame in, though he feels no shame, now, in his lust for the man above him – but, of course, this feels so different. Not just the angle but the awe at the thought of bringing Mr Graves any pleasure. And he must because Mr Graves gasps, pushes his hips up as Credence's hand slides over his length. Too slow, probably, and too light but Mr Graves doesn't complain, rests his hands in Credence's hair, again, a gentle, reassuring pressure against his skull.

If he stops to think too long he's sure his confidence will evaporate – he's never done this, never done anything like this, has no idea what he's doing – so he just keeps going, doesn't think, lets this newfound assurance and Mr Graves's hands guide him. Maybe it's the lipstick, the powder, he thinks, a mask to let the truth come out, and then he takes Mr Graves into his mouth, and thinks of nothing else.

Mr Graves's cock is smooth, hot and heavy against his tongue. It's strange but good. So good. Even better when Mr Graves twists his fingers in his hair, tugging, the pain sharp and exquisite, and he moans around him. When the older man pushes a shoed foot into his crotch, rubbing at his erection, he has to pull away, rest his face on Mr Graves's knee. 

'Too much?' asks the older man, lifting Credence's gaze to his with two fingers tucked under his chin. Credence nods and Mr Graves removes his foot. 'You're doing so well.' The words curl around Credence and he sinks back down.

To have Mr Graves fall apart beneath his mouth, his hands, is more than Credence has ever dared dream of. It's heady, addictive. He could do this always, he thinks, as he bobs his head, sucking, twists his wrist. If only he could see how his red lips look stretched around Mr Graves's thick cock. 

His jaw aches and his blood is hot and his cock is throbbing insistently. It all feels too perfect. He hopes he is making Mr Graves feel as good, hopes he is doing it right, thinks he must be with Mr Graves's hands cradling his skull, the soft, near indistinct praises – 'such a good boy' and 'that's it, baby' – falling from his lips, washing over Credence. A low, choked moan sounds above him when he pushes his tongue just so, and Credence thrills to hear it. 

Mr Graves's hands become more insistent and Credence follows them gladly, letting Mr Graves guide him, though he doesn't push too far. Credence knows, and Mr Graves knows, he wouldn't be able to take all of him, not yet. His stomach flips at the thought that, maybe, one day, yes he could take all of Mr Graves in his mouth. Nose buried in wiry hair, mouth so full as the other man would fuck him even deeper than now. He moans at the thought, Mr Graves's hips bucking at the vibrations around him.

Mr Graves tugs at his head, pulls him off, and Credence makes a frustrated noise. A whine, almost. 'I'm going to-'

'I know,' says Credence, cutting him off, and dips back down, determined to taste. Mr Graves calls out his name, sibilant stretching, and with just a few more bobs of Credence's head, strokes of his hand, is coming into Credence's mouth. He swallows as best he can, eyes pricking with tears, lets Mr Graves ride out his orgasm with his hand fisted in Credence's hair. He pulls back when the fingers loosen, wipes across his mouth. It comes away only wet with saliva, maybe come, but no red. The spell is still working, then, lipstick firm in place.

Mr Graves looks down at him with dark eyes, pupils swallowing the irises, strokes Credence's hair, his jaw, his neck. 

'You are-' he starts, voice rough. He swallows thickly. 'You are something else, my boy.'

Credence blinks, pulling deep breaths through his open mouth. He licks over his lips, hands braced on Mr Graves's thighs. His knees ache, his neck is stiff and his cock throbs. Mr Graves's gaze lands in his lap and his lips curl into a pleased smirk.

Credence is pulled up by his collar, spread across Mr Graves's lap, steadying himself on the other man's broad shoulders. Mr Graves's hands are already at the fastening of his trousers, opening them, pushing them down as far as he can, taking Credence's cock in one hand, gripping his ass with the other, thumb pressed against his tailbone. Credence knows it won't be long before his orgasm overtakes him, tries to stave it off as best he can so this can last longer, so he can stay cradled in this embrace.

He looks between them to see Mr Graves's hand move over his cock, the way his own hips push up to feel more, more and more. Mr Graves kisses his neck again, down to the hollow of his throat, and Credence gasps. When Mr Graves pulls back, looks him right in the eyes and says, 'that's it, sweetheart, come for me,' he cries out, spilling over Mr Graves's fist. 

He is trembling all over. One, two, three, countless tears spill over his rouged cheeks and he presses his face to the crook of Mr Graves's neck. Inhales the salty, musky scent of him. Large, elegant hands run over his back and Mr Graves makes soothing noises into his ear.

'I've got you. You did so well, my darling.' They stay with Credence draped over Mr Graves's lap, encircled in his arms, for long moments before Mr Graves lowers them to their sides on the bed. They lie facing each other, breaths coming damp and warm between them, faces so close but not touching. 

'Did you like that?' Mr Graves asks, hooking an ankle over Credence's. Credence is dazed, shaky, but he manages to let out a hoarse, 'yes'.

'Good,' says Mr Graves and runs a thumb over Credence's lips. 'And do you like this? The lipstick?'

Credence nods, sucks Mr Graves's thumb into his mouth, nips at it. He already misses the weight of the other man's cock on his tongue. His eyes close as Mr Graves pushes his thumb in further, pressing against his palate. Credence hums happily around it.

'Would you wear it again?' Mr Graves doesn't say 'for me' but the words hang there all the same.

Credence releases his thumb and breathes out a 'yes' that earns him a breathtaking grin. 'I'll buy you some, then. Any colour you want. Anything you want.' 

Credence nods again and lets himself be pulled closer by his hip, fitting his hand over Mr Graves's waist. Their pants remain undone but neither man seems to care as they tangle themselves together, pressing close, limbs slotting into place as they hold on to each other.

He wonders, as he watches Mr Graves through lidded eyes, if it was only the lipstick and powder mask that seduced him. Coaxed his kisses from him. A honey-tipped arrow shot from the perfect bow of his red lips, to send desire spidering through the older man's veins where there had been none before. He worries his lip between his teeth and tightens his grip on Mr Graves's waist. But then Mr Graves cups his jaw, says, 'you're beautiful', leans in and kisses him sweetly, and Credence decides he doesn't want to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to find me on tumblr :)
> 
> And now some rather long notes:
> 
> The title is a reference to the popular lip shape of the 20s, the Cupid's bow, which is not as extreme as it's sometimes made out to be (no Queen Amidala lips here). (See [here](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/292171094552435636/) and [here](http://ell.h-cdn.co/assets/cm/14/52/320x400/549fb08fed9ea_-_clara-bow-lg.jpg)). It was so popular that lip stencils were sold and Helena Rubinstein even released the [Cupid's bow lipstick](http://www.cosmeticsandskin.com/ded/lipsticks.php%20) (7th picture on the right) which was apparently self-shaping. (IDK how that worked).
> 
> I got a bit carried away with the research – I was only going to refresh what I already knew but I find the history of cosmetics fascinating – so if there's maybe a bit too much description of the make-up, I'm sorry. Also, do you know how hard it is to describe eyelash curlers from the POV of someone who's never seen them? I should have taken that passage out but eh. Also, I couldn't 100% find what I wanted about eyeliner (the product, not the style) in the 20s so I just winged it. Flavoured lipstick and lip pomades were indeed a thing in the 1920s according to several of the sources I referred to. Apparently cherry was the most popular flavour.
> 
> Anyway, here are some of the sites/books/videos I used to refresh/pad out my knowledge of 20s make-up, for anyone else who is interested:
> 
> [Retro Makeup: Techniques for Applying the Vintage Look](http://store.vintagehairstyling.com/retro-makeup-techniques-for-applying-the-vintage-look/) (BOOK)  
> [Authentic 1920s Flapper Makeup with Historical Cosmetics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo2n18pYkK4); [Historical 1920s Real Flapper Vamp Tutorial with Authentic Cosmetics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KMFftI3MrM) (VIDEOS)  
> [Cake Mascara](http://www.cosmeticsandskin.com/cdc/block-mascara.php); [Liquid and Cream Mascara](http://www.cosmeticsandskin.com/ded/liquid-cream-mascara.php); [Vintage Mascara from the 1920s](http://clickamericana.com/topics/beauty-fashion/vintage-mascara-1920s)  
> [1920s Makeup Guide](http://www.return2style.de/swingstyle/makeup/20amimup.html); [Cosmetic Timeline](http://www.cosmeticsandskin.com/cosmetic-timeline.php); [A Brief History of 1920s Makeup](http://glamourdaze.com/history-of-makeup/1920s)


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